


Love’s Sorrow

by PinkCripps



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional, Gen, Inspired by Fanart, Musician Severus Snape, Rachmaninoff, Severus Snape plays piano
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:28:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21682987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkCripps/pseuds/PinkCripps
Summary: Severus vents his emotions throught music.
Relationships: Lily Evans Potter & Severus Snape, Lily Evans Potter/Severus Snape, Narcissa Black Malfoy & Severus Snape
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Love’s Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this fanart](https://suffer-my-displeasure.tumblr.com/post/188218427980/narcissa-catches-snape-playing-the-piano) by Suffer My Displeasure, as well as this whole self-indulgent musician!Snape headcanon I had.

_Boom, Boom, Boom..._

Severus lingered on notes of a low octave. He took in the darkness of the night, listened to the wind whistling a eerie tune, and felt the frigidness permeating Malfoy Manor. He was feeling troubled. Turmoiled. Anxious. Uncertain.

He was feeling C# minor.

Severus allowed his fingers to build a foreboding tune, imagining the chords as bells ringing in a cemetery. This piece had been in his mind for a while, now, disturbing him with images of death, graves, _here lies Lily Potter_ —

Running. He was running. His fingers were running. Across the keys they went, sounding as agitated as felt. Running—was he running from something, or to something? In his mind’s eye, he could see a casket.

This was a common dream of his. Each time he would race to the casket, look into it, and find a different face in it: Lily Evans, Albus Dumbledore, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter...

He continued to scramble up the keys, desperately trying not to hit wrong notes. The casket came closer, closer...

He noticed a pale figure shift in the edges of his vision.

Severus faltered off the keys, wrong-footed. He’d put his muffling charm on the room, hadn’t he? What was Narcissa doing here? How had he woken her up?

“You haven’t woken me up, Severus. You need not worry,” reassured Narcissa. Severus looked at her questioningly as she walked towards him, and she continued: “I was having trouble sleeping, so I decided to take a walk around the manor. I was surprised to see light coming from the piano room.” Both he and Narcissa abstractedly glanced at the lone candle flickering light into the room.

There was a still yet expectant silence. Severus silently waited for her to leave, anticipating the return of his solitude. It was not that he had any grievances with Narcissa; to the contrary, he viewed the woman as a mother figure, more so than he did his own.

As of now, however, he viewed her an intrusion to his personal time. He yearned to feel the pressure of the keys under his fingertips, to let go of all emotion and siphon it into the piano.

Narcissa purposefully ignored the weary look coming from the dark-haired man. She could not rest; how could she when her only child, her Darling Draco, was to be hidden away from her again in Hogwarts come tomorrow?

“That was beautiful playing, Severus. Had I known you played piano, I would have shown you this room sooner.”

Severus remained silent.

“I used to be in the habit of playing, myself. For Draco when he was a baby. He used to love Rachmaninoff too, though I could never play it as well as you do.”

Severus turned back to the piano, as if indicating the conversation was over.

“You play Rachmaninoff as if you were the man himself.”

Narcissa waited for a reply, grey eyes pleading.

Severus asked her to leave. She was rambling (who in the world was Rachmaninoff?), and he did not want to be present when she began crying.

He wasn’t too sure if he wouldn’t start crying himself.

* * *

He was crying. He could feel the wetness, different from the wetness on his neck, slide down his face.

He could feel pain, both physical and not.

He could feel the choked vibrations of his vocal chords as he gasped a desperate last plea.

He felt smooth coolness on his cheek as he looked into green eyes one last time.

He felt nothing.

* * *

Severus felt something blow across his face. The breeze? And the warmth of the sun. He wanted to lie there and simply enjoy the sensations. But knew he needed to get up. He simply had to. So he did.

Sitting up, he looked around and wasn’t surprised to find himself in the place of his childhood: near the playground and under the tree, where he met Lily.

Ah, Lily was walking towards him now. Severus fully stood up and turned pleased eyes to her. The 20-year wait to see her was all worth it at this moment. Her radiance was other-worldly.

She came up close to him and cradled his cheeks with her hands.

“Is this heaven, Lily?” asked Severus.

Lily smiled, but shook her head, saying, “He said it was not your time yet.” Severus nodded in understanding.

They stood together for an indiscernible length of time, a picture of bittersweet reunion, a melody of moving composition.

Then, Lily raised herself on her toes and placed her forehead on his. He couldn’t but stare into her eyes, unable to move away.

“I forgive you, Severus. I forgave you long ago. You are free.”

Severus felt a burden lift off him. Tears of relief flooded his eyes, but he made no attempt to hide them.

Lily simply smiled again and closed her eyes. Severus allowed himself to stare in awe a moment more before closing his own eyes, giving himself over to the music playing in his mind.

* * *

Severus woke up suddenly in a panic, hoping he hadn’t slept in. Nikolai would be impossibly critical today, otherwise.

Severus mentally paused. He didn’t know a Nikolai, did he?

He looked around the somehow familiar bedroom he was in. That meeting with Lily—the inexplicable contentment, the overwhelming joy—was it all imagined? Had someone found him lying in the Shrieking Shack and nursed him back to health? But no, that was not it. This felt different.

He raised his left arm and found the skin pristine. He touched his hand to his neck and felt no scar there.

The faintest memory of a cold night at a manor enters his mind. _Rachmaninoff_...

He scrambles to the bathroom and peers into a mirror. A 16-year-old version of him looks back with wide eyes.

What had happened? He had clearly traveled back in time, but this was not his past.

No, it was not his past. Maybe, though...it was a new start altogether.

The bathroom mirror continued to reflect back his wide-eyed expression. Severus pondered it, let out a deep breath, then rushed out of the room.

His name was Sergei Rachmaninoff, and he had a piece to compose.

**Author's Note:**

> The first time I listened to Rachmaninoff, I thought of Severus Snape.
> 
> The piece Severus plays at the beginning, [Prelude in C# Minor](https://youtu.be/sCtixpIWBto), was composed with the inspiration of a dream Rachmaninoff had, where he sees himself lying in the casket at a funeral. The angst, the fear you feel when you listen to the piece is palpable. 
> 
> Then, there’s [Love’s Sorrow](https://youtu.be/ZFvx32SjAtE), which is no less angsty, but it’s for an entirely different reason. It reminds me of Severus’s relationship with Lily. The contrast of the [chaotic notes](https://youtu.be/_sbAtt4w6ZU?t=3m3s) descending to the simple return to the theme near the end makes me cry; I imagine Severus’s death, and then reunion with Lily. 
> 
> Rachmaninoff somewhat even looks like Severus, and all these things combined led to my little story about how Severus Snape becomes Sergei Rachmaninoff.


End file.
